


And a Mad Genius...

by Star_Prince



Series: Wish Upon a Star-Lord [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Disney, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Headcanon, Next chapter has the smut you want, Not really we've all wanted it, Post-Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Story series, You guys have issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:13:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Prince/pseuds/Star_Prince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rocket schemes, steals, and finally snaps after the plot of a Disney movie flies right over his furry little head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a Mad Genius...

It was hard, literally the hardest thing that Rocket had ever done in his entire life; the previous night’s trip from Quill’s quarters to his own room was made excruciating with the restraint he had to show in Groot’s presence. Why the little guy stuck up for the damn humie, he didn’t know, but that sleepy glare the raccoon was receiving every time his lips started to curl up into an amused smirk or whenever that rumbling chitter began to sound, signaling the start of a chuckle, Rocket had to suppress the urge to just bust up laughing and collapse into a heap on the floor. So on he walked, enduring that silence until his little bandit mind could take it no longer, the procyon finally grinning as he sniggered “Hnn…so…how was th’ movie night Groot? Havin’ fun with Star-Lad?”

Blinking sleepily, the seedling did his best to shoot a glare at Rocket, though honestly, the look he fixed the other with could be classified, at best, as an exhausted glance “I. Am. Groot.”

Rocket rolled his eyes and shrugged, grumbling “ _Yes_ , I know that’s not his name. It was s’pposed t’be a joke ya lil’…and whaddya mean it was great ‘til I came ‘round? I’m great, so ‘f the thing was great ‘n I showed up, shoulda been double great!”

The sapling stared, unimpressed, at Rocket and continued to shake his head, shoulders slumping down a bit in the tiny pot that contained him as he sighed “I am Grooooooot…”

Rocket scowled and let out a snarl, a hand leaving the pot hugged against his chest to flail in the air, waving whatever comment the plantlet had made off as he continued on “Bah, what would you know ‘bout good taste anyway, ya eat what grows off ya. An’ boo-hoo, ya only saw the beginnin’, you knew better ‘n I warned ya ‘bout yer bedtime schedule. T’get back t’yer original size ya gotta be faithfully followin’ it, and we want ya t’get big ASAP. S’like ya expect me t’ride Quill ‘round in fights, and like I’d ever do that, th’ big baby.”

Groot gasped out, tiny hands pressing up to his tiny mouth as Rocket said that, cybernetic eyes lifting upwards as he grunted plainly “And yeah, I said it. A baby! ‘D rather have him watchin’ those nerd shows with the fightin’ robots than whatever that dumb kid crap was, least the nerd stuff’s kinda excitin’. This? Pft, he’s just lucky he ain’t never done this b’fore ‘r else I woulda ma-what? What, why’re ya makin’ that face and actin’ like that…”

Rocket squinted down at his miniature friend, Groot doing his best to act cool, calm, and composed in front of the raccoon, but really only managing to do the exact opposite of that. His attempted whistling was more him just blowing raspberries in different tones, and the fact that he did his best to avoid looking at Rocket at all costs (which included shielding his face with his hands) meant the procyon had every right to feel suspicious. “Groot…that **was** the first time somethin’ like that happened…right?”

“I…am Groot?”

Met with that sheepish smile on his woody friend’s face, Rocket’s eyes narrowed and the raccoon lowered his voice as he at last made it to his room, stopping his line of questioning only for a moment so he could focus on opening the door and getting the pair inside. Teeth clenched together and the mammal did his best to bite back his anger while he grunted, “Groot…just _how many krutackin’_ _times_ has this happened?”

The petite plant said nothing, simply mumbling out incoherent words (which were almost certainly ‘I am Groot’) as he tapped off a few ligneous digits, apparently counting just how many times he had snuck off away from Rocket in favor of watching cartoons with Quill. And the fact that it took so long for the great tree to hold up a combination of digits and mumble out “…Groot?” was not lost on Rocket; in fact, it had the raccoon’s vision dully pulsing into a crimson haze, anger that his ‘Get Groot Big’ schedule (yes, it had a name) was interrupted by that idiot in command.

Eyes narrowed even more so that Rocket was staring out of mere slits, and without another word, the mammal placed his potted friend on his nightstand, turned off the lights, and stared upwards while afterimages and residual bursts of scarlet slowly melted away into the darkness.  Although that dull ebb and flow of crimson rage soon faded away in the blackness of his room, the raccoon couldn’t help but harbor a grudge towards Quill, the procyon grumbling and mumbling nonsense as that mad mind of his went to work figuring out how to punish the Guardian appropriately.

Was it petty? Oh, most definitely, but Rocket never said he wasn’t a petty soul. And honestly, he knew he wasn’t going to keep his promise to Peter, for this was a secret that was just _begging_ to be shared with any and all who wished to hear it. A maniacal smirk pressing his lips upward as he turned to his side, tugging the covers up and over himself while he curled up in place, ready to put his plan into action after a good long rest.

 

* * *

 

 

“QUILL!”

The scream echoed throughout the Milano, reverberating and intensifying as it bounced off of the metal walls, seeming to grow shriller the farther it traveled away from its source. And once it reached the captain’s quarters, Quill was up in a second, eyes open wide and heart beating out of his chest; this was the sort of noise he only heard when the ship was under attack, someone was bleeding heavily, or the Milano had run out of booze, and if any of those things were happening now Peter knew he’d have to remedy it quickly.

Grabbing on to a pair of pants and slinging a leg into them, Quill rushed out of his room and stumbled down the hallway, paying absolutely no attention to the small mammal whistling out and strolling towards the Terran’s room; and that was exactly how Rocket had planned it all. Amber eyes rolled in their sockets as the procyon snorted out, the male sliding easily into the door that Peter had left ajar in his hurry to find Gamora (who would undoubtedly be screaming at him about how his piece-of-junk ship was no longer producing hot water). “Idiots. That’ll keep ‘em busy fer a few hours.”

Had Rocket placed a small EMP in the ship’s water controls to short out the heating panels? That wasn’t the question; the real question was where did Quill keep those flarking tapes? Rocket had been in the room for all of 2 minutes before he started to tear the already disorganized space apart. Sheets were thrown up and away as the procyon searched beneath the man’s mattress, pausing only for a moment to move on to other possible hiding spots when it became apparent that the Terran wouldn’t keep something he deemed so valuable where it could be crushed.

Books were swiped away from their spots on shelves, clothes were torn down from hangers and bunched up into a ball on the closet floor, desk drawers were yanked completely out of their holders and emptied out onto the already cluttered floor and still nothing. The raccoon was fuming by this point, no longer even attempting to search the man’s quarters as much as he was attempting to trash them, “Where’re th’ d’ast things! He’s gotta have a lotta the flarkin’ things an’ s’not like he hidin’ ‘em in plain…sight?”

Those wily red-brown eyes flicked towards the video console and Rocket groaned out softly; it was so obvious, why wouldn’t you hide (or more accurately, store) videos under a **video console**? The raccoon scurried over towards the com-center and grinned mischievously as he saw the cabinets inlaid beneath it, nimble digits tapping against each other madly like some B-list spy villain would do. Those digits stopped their motion just long enough for the male to reach forward to grab onto the cabinet handle, the raccoon cackling in victory as he tugged hard on the drawer; and it was probably a good thing no one was around to see him because the locked drawer merely shook in the procyon’s hand as he laughed away, Rocket finally taking note of that fact nearly thirty seconds into his victory fake-laugh.

“WAHAHAHAH-whatha…Ugh, Quill thinkin’ he can be sneaky ‘n lock up his personal property…this’ll show ‘im.” In mere moments, Rocket was picking at the lock hiding away Star-Lord’s dirty little secret, agile fingers and clever mind using the skills he learned to escape some of the lower-end prisons he had been in to a more practical use…if picking the lock of a friend’s video collection could be considered practical.

“Almost…almooooooost….Got it!” With his cry of victory came the sliding of cabinet drawers, the raccoon absolutely delighted as he broke into Star-Lord’s personal collection of kid cartoons. Those hands that had been delicate enough to coerce a lock open roughly grabbed onto the low-tech cassettes and discs that lined the shelves in no apparent order (while in fact, they were arranged chronologically in the order of release), bringing them into the light for judging eyes to view.

“Pinocchio? Th’ flark s’a Pinocchio, that just sounds dumb…Lion King (must be that stupid thing that kept Groot up all night, d’ast bastard Quill). Bwahaha! The Lil’ Mermaid? Oh man Quill…you got _so_ many issues!” That last title genuinely brought a tear to the raccoon’s eye and a long finger had to clear it away before his vision got any blurrier…the lack of oxygen from laughing too hard wasn’t helping things either.

Wheezing slightly, Rocket sighed out and pulled one last cassette out of the cupboard, an eyebrow perking up as he looked quizzically at the cover; a young woman dressed in yellow gazed fondly at a chestnut-furred creature under the title “Beauty and the Beast.” Shrugging, the raccoon opened the case and moved to pop the movie into the control center, only half-surprised that Quill had something to play a VHS tape in a craft capable of spaceflight. Brows furrowed together as the raccoon flung himself back against the Terran’s bed, a light snort catching in his throat as he smirked “Now…lessee what all th’ fuss s’about…got a couple hours still, might as well give it a shot, right?”

* * *

 

An hour was all Rocket could take, 60 minutes of songs and dances about lazy villages, expectorating, and anthropomorphic cutlery and he was tugging on his whiskers as if by pulling them out he’d be spared from this new hell. The worst part was how he actually didn’t mind the dumb songs or the stupid bright colors or the idiotic peppy characters; no, as much as he would have liked to say he hated the movie for all the cheery, feel-good crap that comprised it, that wasn’t the part that bothered Rocket.

No, it was the relationship between Belle and Beast that had the raccoon fuming, the procyon completely irate over the ‘message’ it seemed to spread (at least to him). “Knew Quill had flarkin’ issues but…ugh, god he actually _watches_ stuff like that? Shoulda known that sex-maniac would b’into that whole man ‘n fur couplin’s. Makes a **whole** lot more sense why he was watchin’ that thing with th’ lions with Gro-“ While he had been lively just moments before, Rocket suddenly fell silent, jaw tensing up as the gears inside his head began to turn.

“He watched…that _smut_ …in front of Groot?! Oh…oh HELL no!” the raccoon was seething at this point, pacing back and forth angrily in place while he leapt to conclusions about the Terran’s moral composition (which by self-admission was pretty low); Rocket was livid and the way he was rabidly snarling and slinging out profanities certainly showed it. Quill had done it, he had finally made the poor procyon snap with a simple misunderstanding; but this misunderstanding was putting events into motion that neither Rocket nor Peter would be able to take back, to change. And it all started with a half-crazed smirk and a lowly growled sentence:

“He wants smut huh…well then he’ll flarkin’ get it.”


End file.
